Refund Policy
In a dingy back alley on the outskirts of the Academy, inside a musty underground gambling den where even light barely penetrated, the air reeked of stale cigar smoke and sweat.
"Puhahaha! Boss! You see this fake contract?!"
"They drew the Academy seal with a damn crayon! Crazy bastard actually fell for this?!"
A mountain of gold coins piled up on the table. Rondo, the scammer who'd sold me that trash heap of land for a fortune just a few days ago, shook a sack of money while cackling.
"Don't know where this foreigner bum crawled in from, but he shelled out a whopping 50 million gold for this crappy scrap of paper! Total brain-dead idiot sucka!"
"Kuhaha! That idiot's probably getting chased out by the student council right now, bawling his eyes out!"
"Drinks on Rondo boss tonight!"
The dozens of back-alley thugs filling the den clinked beer mugs and burst into laughter. Drunk on the thrill of their perfect con, it was a heartwarming, joyous celebration.
Kwaaaang!
That's when it happened. The sturdy iron door of the gambling den bent like taffy with a thunderclap and flew through the air.
"Uwak?!"
"W-what the hell?!"
The massive door smashed into the center of the gambling table, obliterating it. Before the dusty haze even settled, two silhouettes stepped in from the pitch-black darkness outside.
"U-um, boss… Did you really have to drag me all the way here…?"
Edelin, tears streaming down her face, clung to my back like a burr, her legs trembling.
I turned my head lazily and looked down at her. "I never told you to come. You followed on your own—why the waterworks now?"
"You just said to close the shutters, not that I could go home… I still had hours left on my afternoon shift, but you looked so scary I couldn't even ask if it was okay to leave…"
Her pitiful whine from a straight-A goody-two-shoes turned slave to capitalism. I clicked my tongue softly.
This is why inflexible nerds are such a pain.
"You should've figured it out and bolted. Since you're here anyway, get ready to carry the money bag later."
I ignored the shivering part-timer and turned my gaze to the center of the smoke-filled den.
And then.
"You guys look like you're having fun."
Me, in my black coat, coolly scanning the room with chilling eyes.
"Y-you're… that store idiot?!"
Rondo spotted me and jumped up in horror. I grabbed the doorknob—still intact despite the wrecked door—and locked the entrance tight.
Click.
Escape route sealed. I casually cracked my neck with a crunch.
"Time to start the refund process."
"Wha…?"
"No receipt? Fine. I'll take your spines instead."
Rondo blinked in confusion, then glanced between Edelin hiding behind me and the locked door, sneering smugly.
"Ha! The idiot sucka grew a pair and walked into his own grave? Hey, earn your pay!"
At Rondo's shout, a robed man stepped forward arrogantly from the back of the gang.
"Kuhuk. Hiring a 4-circle sorcerer like me just to mop up thugs? Rondo must be really scared. I'll turn this place into a sea of—"
Thwack!
"Gaaak!"
As the mage struck a pose to start casting, I closed the gap effortlessly and planted my foot in his face. The burly sorcerer flew through the air, smashing a pool table to splinters before crashing down. Eyes rolled back, he couldn't muster a speck of mana and passed out in one second flat.
"Where'd you hire this third-rate mage from?"
At my indifferent mutter, Edelin peeked from behind me and mumbled in a crumpled voice.
"A 4-circle… That's top of the senior class at the Academy… And you call that third-rate…?"
Overwhelming physical power that shattered even a genius fresh to 3-circle's common sense.
Confusion flickered across the thugs' faces—they couldn't even grasp what just happened.
"What're you waiting for? One by one and we'll be here all night."
I roughly yanked off my tie and growled like a beast.
"Come at me all at once, you vermin."
It was a one-sided slaughter. No, a calamity.
In 99 lifetimes, I'd rampaged across battlefields, cutting down millions. These small-time punks' sloppy knife swings were slower than slow motion to me.
Crack!Bam!
Every punch shattered jaws; every kick caved in ribs. No fancy martial arts needed. I just grabbed whatever was handy, threw, stomped, snapped.
"Gaaah! My arm! My arm!"
"H-help… somebody…!"
One minute. The dozens of thugs and the 4-circle mage sprawled on the floor, vomiting blood.
Edelin, who'd been trembling behind me, now gaped at me like I was a monster, not her boss.
"Hiiik…!"
"Hiiik…!"
As I stepped forward, the lone remaining scammer Rondo pissed his pants and backed away. (For some reason, Edelin retreated too.)
I strode up and yanked his hair hard as he tried to flee.
"Now, time to settle up."
"Kugh! Mercy, please have mercy!"
I shook the blood off my hands and started my "reasonable" calculations.
"Damage to my tyrant pride from falling for your shitty scam, mental anguish compensation, overtime and business loss for our 10-million-gold part-timer here. Plus my rage meter spike."
"……."
"Total: a clean 500 million gold. Hand it over."
Miraculous business sense. Rondo's face went white at my shameless demand for ten times the principal.
"F-five hundred million?! No way!"
"Broke? Then like I said, I'll start yanking spines for the black market."
As I gripped his neck bone for real, Rondo foamed at the mouth and screamed.
"N-no money! I swear, none left!"
"What?"
"Paid off debts, blew it on the crew's partying… Gold vault's got just the principal now!"
Rondo sobbed and pointed to the iron safe in the corner. I clicked my tongue.
Figures. Can't squeeze big bucks from day-labor trash like this.
"Combination."
"7-7777…"
I opened the safe and swept all the gold coins into a sack. Heavy. Easily covered the 50 million I'd been scammed out of.
I trussed up Rondo's half-dead gang like dried fish on a line. Dump 'em at the security knights' post, and I'd snag some nice bounty money, even if pocket change.
Tyrants don't do losing deals.
"Good work, Edelin. Money's recovered—see you tomorrow."
"Boss… you're way scarier than the thugs…"
I shouldered the heavy sack, leaving behind the dazed part-timer muttering as she stepped over bloodstains.
One problem left to solve.
A short while later. Academy main building, student council president's office.
Beliche lounged on a plush sofa, sipping premium black tea leisurely.
"He's probably packed up and left by now."
Capitalism's iron rule. No amount of bullshit holds up against money. No way a street vendor could cough up 50 million in fines.
She'd already assembled a demolition crew from the disciplinary committee.
But her leisure lasted less than five minutes.
Bam!
The hefty council president door flew open. Before Beliche could set down her teacup in surprise, Hakan strode in and dumped a massive sack on her desk like luggage.
Thud!
The desk groaned and split. The sack's mouth loosened, spilling a waterfall of gleaming gold coins.
"…?!"
Beliche's eyes bulged. But what horrified her more wasn't the shattered desk or the mountain of gold.
It was the dark red stains splattered across the sack. And above all, the vivid blood caking Hakan's cheek and coat collar.
"Your 50 million fine."
Hakan tapped the desk with his hand, blood still fresh and dripping. Thick, metallic blood-scent wafted over.
He hadn't even bothered wiping the splatter from pulping Rondo's gang—just strolled in wearing the evidence.
"Paid up. So that red sticker on my store? Invalid."
"You… this money… and all that blood on you… what the…?"
Beliche's voice quivered faintly. Worst-case scenarios flashed through her mind.
Scraping together this much cash overnight, drenched in human blood? Not some day labor gig. He'd massacred dozens and robbed them blind.
And the nonchalance—no washing up, no changing clothes.
No way this guy's just a vendor… Mafia boss ruling the continent's underworld? No—a lawless killer reigning above it all?!
Beliche paled. But as heir to Eilen Kingdom's top merchant house and student council president, she swallowed her fear and retorted shakily.
"W-where you got this money… I won't ask. B-but!"
She shot up from her chair.
"Paying the fine doesn't end it! That's just punishment for unauthorized occupation—this land's Academy property. The illegal squatting stands! Vacate the store now!"
The merchant heir's airtight logic exploiting capitalism's loopholes. Utter nonsense to me, though.
I snorted.
"So how do I rip off that illegal occupation tag for good? Legally rent the dump, or buy it outright?"
"P-pardon? B-buy it?"
Beliche stammered in disbelief.
"Th-that's outside my jurisdiction as president! Official leases or sales on Academy grounds require direct dealing with the landowner—the Chairman!"
Chairman. Reeked of fat old noble swimming in cash.
As a tyrant who'd dominated the continent, I knew bureaucracy inside out. Bickering with underlings like this? Pointless fatigue.
Problem arises? Skip the chain—grab the top dog's throat.
That was tyrant kingcraft.
I ripped off my bloodied tie roughly and grinned like a beast.
"So the lord's separate, huh. Should've said so sooner."
"…Lord?"
"Step aside, bill collector."
I turned without regret. Jerked my chin at the frozen Beliche as I headed for the door.
"Lead the way."
"P-pardon? W-where to…?"
"To the Chairman. I'm going straight to 'negotiate'."